


Buried Things

by SalParadiseLost



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: A Someone to Find Him, And Someone to Find Him, Angst, Anxiety, Batfamily (DCU), Buried Alive, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt Damian Wayne, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Rescue, Resurrected Jason Todd, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Trapped, no beta we die like robins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29299959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalParadiseLost/pseuds/SalParadiseLost
Summary: Tim wakes up in a grave with no idea how he got there, and only one contact on his phone.It’s a good thing it's to the only Robin who knows how to break out of a grave and there’s no way in hell he’s letting another bird stay buried.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 208
Kudos: 736





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation for this other than I wanted to write something angsty and I'm being held back in quarantine for two weeks so I'm fully committing to writing angsty fic. 
> 
> Hope y'all are ready for this.

Tim wakes up to darkness.

He groaned, body aching from the memory of a recent fight. That had been what? Two days ago? It had been a low-level fight, but some of the goons managed lucky shots that Tim was still feeling.

He probably needed some painkillers and maybe he could convince Alfred to look at him without triggering the man’s worrying. Who was he kidding, the butler was going to mother-henning over him for the next week.

He shifting, intending to roll out of bed, and was stopped by a wall.

He frowned, yanked off the glove of his suit, and reached forward, feeling whatever the barrier was. It was soft? And maybe polished wood? That didn’t make any sense?

He pushed against it and the wall didn’t give at all.

That’s when the first bits of panic began to leak into Tim’s head.

The breaths were quick in his chest, and he fought to keep them even. He tried to sit up and slammed his head on whatever the top of this cage was.

Panic flared, anxiety setting deep into his heart as he realised he was trapped, captured like a bird in a box.

The dull pain of hitting his head ached but didn’t compare at all to the frantic energy that was rising in his throat.

He didn’t even remember getting abducted. Had they surprised him? Gotten a jump on him when he was sleeping? He tried to think of earlier today and everything was just a fuzzy blur in his head. All of the details he tried to gasp unravelled in his head and slipped away.

The gap in his memory made ice flow through his veins, forcing his breaths to come out quick and uncoordinated. His muscles jumped, and he had the sudden frantic urge to jerk all his limbs, anything to feel less pressed in.

Tim’s hand tightened around a piece of metal.

 _A phone,_ his mind supplies, blearily through the rising panic. His fingers are shaking so hard, it takes him a few tries to find the power button.

The instant he does, artificial light floods the small space and it almost makes him cry.

Alright, alright. He tells himself, forcing his brain to think logically and not focus on the yawning dark around him.

He was trapped. In a small space. Not enough room to turn or sit up. Not enough space to do anything but lay on his back. He didn’t know why or how he got there.

Tim tried to stretch his legs forward and feel around the sides of the cage. It was weird, horizontal, and his hands kept hitting… satin? That wasn’t right. But sure enough, he kept feeling soft under him.

What kind of cage has a soft lining? Almost like it was meant to be laid on…

The realisation hit him like ice running down his spine, freezing between each of his vertebrae.

It wasn’t a cage. It was a coffin.

The panic that he had desperately been trying to keep back roared to the forefront. The breath stuttered in his chest. His blood froze. His head swam with the possibilities of being trapped in here, suffocating in here, dying alone in here.

No, no, no.

He had to keep calm. He had to think this through.

His fingers instinctively clutched the phone in his hand and he nearly broke down in relief when he realised, he had a lifeline. 

Tim brought the device to his face, wincing in the harsh light. The screen burned brightly, showing the time 7:24 p.m. in glaring white numbers. That either means it had been about 5 hours since his last memory from late afternoon or it’s been over 24 hours and Tim was missing more time than he realised.

His stomach turned as he tried not to think of how long he could have been trapped in the coffin without him knowing. He took a couple of seconds to force himself to breathe through his nose and out his mouth.

Once his breath evened out a bit more, he pressed the home button on the phone and the screen brought up a single application.

Tim squinted, pressing the home button again and watching as the screen reloaded. The small green square of the “phone” application was still the only thing that came up, even though Tim _knew_ he had more applications on his phone.

He turned the phone, looking at its side and finding the familiar nick of where he had cracked the edge a year ago. He was rough on his technology and his siblings teased him about it endlessly. He had wanted to get it fixed, but he was still trying to figure out how to do it without letting Babs know.

Then, he kinda forgot about it and he didn’t even think about it now.

The nick confirmed that this was his phone, even though it was clearly hacked to delete most of his information. Whoever had put him in this coffin obviously knew what they were doing and left it in here with one application on purpose.

The thought that someone had been planning this and circling around Tim for a while without him noticing sent a cold shiver of terror down his spine. The panic was paving at the back of his mind, barely kept in check.

He opened up the phone application and saw that it was almost completely empty except for one familiar contact:

Jason.

Tim could have cried in relief. Because it was Jason, his brother, and probably the only one who knew how to get out of a grave. Jason who could be prickly but was also one of the most fiercely protective of their family. He would know what to do. He would get Tim out of this alive. He wouldn’t leave Tim to die alone and underground.

Tim didn’t even stop to think about why Jason was the only name to come up, he was too frantic, too strung out, and too desperate to hear someone else’s voice to wait.

He pressed the button and listened to it ring.

***

Jason had been perched on the edge of a building, legs swinging over the ledge when his phone rang in his pocket.

Patrol would be easy that night. Nothing was really brewing in terms of villain activity and even the low-level gangs had seemed to have taken the message and given him a night off.

He was even thinking about maybe just skipping that night and letting the rest of the Bats cover Gotham.

Maybe he could get some of the fucking rest he deserved.

The easy feeling in the air combined with the general peacefulness in the sunset almost made him ignore the call. Only the Bats had his phone number and he didn’t want one of them to shatter the small bit of quiet he had managed to carve out for himself.

But then he remembered the lecture that Dick had given him last time he had ignored their calls and he frowned as he pulled the phone out.

The screen showed “Timbo” and a stupid picture Jason had taken of him when he had fallen asleep with his eyes partially open.

It never failed to make him smile, especially because he _knew_ how much Tim hated it.

He kissed his tranquil night good-bye and picked up the phone.

“Yello Timbit,” he said, throwing a small piece of asphalt off the edge of the roof. He tracked it as it fell to its demise in the Gotham air.

“…Jason?” Tim’s voice was tiny and filled with a near sob. The kid’s panic was obvious and vibrant through the phone and it made everything in Jason freeze.

Tim was tough. He was a shit, but he was tough and not the type that called their near killer in tears. He was more the type to suffer in silence until Dick had enough and dragged him into the medical wing.

Suddenly, all those “big brother” feelings that he had tried to insist he didn’t have came roaring to the forefront.

“Tim, where are you? Are you hurt?” Jason growled, anger flaring even though it wasn’t directed at the kid. On the other end, the kid whimpered and Jason’s fury blared into his head, grating against any ability to have rational thought.

Because the kid was hurt and panicked and desperately reaching out to Jason for help.

Jason was going to slit another’s throat who dared to lay a hand on his brother.

“I’m not hurt,” Tim mumbled by something that sounded scarily like a sob. It made Jason’s heart stutter in his chest. “But I’m trapped. I don’t know where I am. And, Jason, I…”

Tim’s voice fluttered and came out strangled. “I think I’m in a coffin and I’ve been buried and…” He trailed off and it sounded heartbreakingly hopeless.

Memories flashed. The darkness. The cold. The confusion. The press of the thick wooden walls closing in around him, pulling him into death. The way his nails had scraped against the barriers and the hopeless thump of his fist on a solid dirt-packed wall.

The dawning and horrifying realisation that he was going to have to dig his way out.

“Jason,” Tim said and Jason’s name sounded like a prayer. “Did I die?” The question was a knife into Jason’s chest and reminded Jason that there was a terrified boy depending on him for help.

There hasn’t been anyone for him, and like hell he was going to let that happen again. Tim wouldn’t go through this alone.

“No, baby bird, no you didn’t,” Jason assured him desperate to convince his little brother that he hadn’t been killed. “I talked to you yesterday and you were fine. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be okay.”

“Jay,” Tim sounded desperate, and it felt like Jason was trapped in there with him. “You’re going to come get me, right?”

“Of course, Timbers. I’m going to get you out of there and we will be home by dinner.”

“Yeah?” There was a thin hope in the word.

“Nothing in the world will stop me.”

“I believe you, Jason.” Tim said, so quietly that Jason almost missed it. His own breath was catching in his lungs, and the weight of Tim’s trust in him settled on his shoulders. It was heavier than anything he had lifted before, and a steel resolve solidified within him.

It didn’t matter how many graves he would dig up or how many coffins he would have to bust open. It didn’t matter if he was going to have to tear open the ground with his own bar hands, he would find his little brother.

“Thanks, baby bird,” he answered back. “You just hang on, okay? I’m going to make some calls and soon you’re going to have the whole bat family chasing after you.”

“You’re leaving me?” Tim’s voice immediately jumped in panic, and Jason swore to himself that he had ever caused it.

He ground his teeth together and was already scrolling for Dick’s contact on his phone. He knew the smarter choice would probably be to call Babs, but Tim was panicking and, hell, _he_ was panicking, and Dick knew how to handle these things better than anyone. (He didn’t want to admit it, but he was suddenly desperate to hear his older brother’s calming voice.) “No, no, no, Timmy, I’m not leaving. I’m just calling Dick. I’ll connect him in for a three-way call.”

“Oh, okay.” Jason was thankful that Tim sounded a little less anxious. “But don’t hang up.”

Jason pressed on Dick’s number and listen to a ring as he assured Tim he wasn’t alone.

Something tight in his chest released when Dick’s annoying (comforting) voice came through.

“Hey, Jaybird, what’s up?”

“Dick?” Both Tim and Jason spoke at the same time and something in the tone sobered their brother immediately.

“Jason? Tim? What’s wrong?” Worried crept into Dick’s tone.

Jason waited, half expecting Tim to cut in, but when he didn’t Jason took over. “Tim has been buried alive. He’s in a coffin somewhere.”

There was silence.

“What?” Dick’s voice was thick with horror and disbelief. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Tim choked out, his voice wobbling. “I don’t remember anything and I woke up here and there was a phone and I called Jason and…” The kid’s voice was growing more and more frantic and Dick jumped in.

“Hey, hey,” he calmed, “It’s okay Timmy, we’re here. You’re okay.”

“I don’t know what’s going on, Dick.” Tim whined, “I don’t know where I am.”

“We’ll find you,” Dick promised in that confident, self-assured way that Dick effortlessly had. Maybe it was the big brother in him. Maybe it was just the way it was to everyone. But the sound of it, calmed some of the frantic pacing of Jason’s heart.

His big brother was there. He would make things okay.

“Jay, have you called anyone else? Bruce?”

Jason shook his head, taking a second before he realised Dick couldn’t see it. “No, you were the first.”

“That’s fine,” Dick assured, and he sounded out of breath. He must be rushing, coming in from Bludhaven at a record pace. “I’ll call him and we’ll get everyone searching. You hear that, Tim, we’re looking for you. You’re not alone. I’m going to hang up, but Jason if anything happens, you call me okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jason mumbled and his voice sounded echoey in his own ears.

“Alright, I’m hanging up now. But I’ll talk to you both soon.”

Both of the brothers said yes, and listened as Dick said a final goodbye before cutting off the line.

“It certainly feels like I’m alone,” Tim grumbled, and it was probably supposed to sound grumpy, but it came out pleading. God, Tim must be going out of his skin in there, holding on to Jason's voice like it was the only thing keeping him together. The kid didn't deserve this. No one deserved this. 

Not him and not the little boy who had been beaten to death by a mad man. 

God, this was messing with his head, running these two events together like watercolour.

Everything about this was breaking Jason’s heart, making him feel frantic and trapped all over again.

“You’re not alone, Tim.” Jason forced himself to ignore how much it felt like he was just saying words into the empty Gotham air. The connection on the phone seemed entirely too thin.

“We’re here for you and we don’t abandon our own.”

It was a promise, even though it felt like a delicate one on Jason’s lips. He prayed that he wouldn’t have to break it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Please leave a kudos and comment :)
> 
> Flattery gets you everywhere.


	2. Chapter 2

Dick cut off the line and felt his heart rise into his throat. Panic and dread rolled in his stomach becoming a caustic, sickening mix.

A part of him desperately wished that Jason had been playing some kind of prank. That maybe this was some kind of sick and twisted joke. Anything to make this situation not real.

Anything that meant Tim was safe and not alone and panicked and desperately reaching out for help.

But, for as many jokes as Jason made about his death, Dick knew that he would never take it this far. He’d never call Dick filled with so much dread and barely-contained fear. He’d never have Tim on the other line sounding so hopeless and frightened that it made Dick physically ill.

Which left Dick with the only conclusion that he didn’t want to believe, that this was real. Tim was trapped in a coffin and they were running out of time.

He nearly tripped getting into his car and roared the engine of it to life. He manoeuvred out of his parking space and began tearing his way to Gotham. His Nightwing suit was in the backseat, but he’d have to wait till he got to the city to put it on.

He needed to focus now and get to his little brother as fast as possible. Getting into a car crash wouldn’t speed up the process.

Once he was on the highway, Dick took a deep breath, steeling himself for the next call he would have to make. He never liked calling Bruce with bad news, and hopefully, the man would already be on patrol, though it was barely the end of sunset.

The phone rang and he had a hard time making himself take even breaths.

“Hey, chum” Bruce answered, sounding casual and half-distracted, which meant he wasn’t out on patrol. He was probably still in his office, going over paperwork and completely unaware that one of his sons was panicking under the earth.

“B,” Dick said, and he couldn’t completely keep the anxiety out of his voice. He didn’t have time to cry though, he needed to get to Gotham. “It’s Tim.”

There was a rustle of papers and the bang of furniture moving. Bruce’s voice came in serious, worried, and all-Batman.

“What happened?”

“Hood called and told me that Red Robin’s been buried alive. He doesn’t remember anything, and he doesn’t have any idea where he is.”

Bruce sucked in a shocked breath, and Dick knew what it felt like. To have such a big piece of your world suddenly slipping out from under your feet.

“Fuck,” Bruce said finally and Dick couldn’t bring himself to tease him for the curse. He had the same feeling.

“Yeah, I know, and we have to move quickly. We don’t have any idea how much air he has left.”

“What do we know?”

“Hood’s on the phone with him. He’s keeping Red calm, but he doesn’t know any more about the situation than we do.”

Bruce gave a relieved sound. “At least he’s not alone. Can we track the phone? Have you called Oracle?”

“I was going to after you.”

“Alright. Do that. I’m going to Red Robin’s last known location. Keep me informed if there are any new developments.”

“Okay, stay safe, B.”

“You too.”

The line cut off and there was silence. Dick huffed, tightening the hands on the steering wheel and still feeling like he was going too impossibly slow, even though he was breaking almost every traffic law there was.

The next call was to Babs who picked up instantly.

“Dick,” she said and there was the pound of rapid typing in the background. Dick didn’t waste any time.

“Tim’s been buried alive, but he has his phone. Can you track it?”

The even beat of the typing came to a halt, before rapidly starting back up again. “If he’s able to call, then I should be able to track him.”

The tight knot of anxiety in Dick’s ribcage seemed to loosen just a little bit. It would be alright. Babs could get him home. Maybe they would even be able to give Bruce Tim’s location and they could start digging him up within an hour.

Maybe this nightmare could be short-lived?

“Are you sure Tim has _his_ phone?”

“That’s what it showed up as in my contacts.”

Barbara hummed, and a flurry of typing followed the sound. “It’s not coming up. Nothing is coming up. It’s like he’s been wiped from the system.”

“No…” Dick said, shaking his head, “What else can we do?”

“You said Jason was calling him? Can you connect me into that?”

Dick made a sharp turn, looking at the Gotham skyline through his front window. The sun had just set, and the last little bits of golden light were filtering out of the city. It was night now, the time that Gotham truly and monstrously came alive. 

The darkness was crawling up the city, swallowing it whole.

Dick hoped that Tim wouldn’t be swallowed up with it.

“Yeah, I’ll call Jason now.”

***

“So then, I told Roy that, and he…” Jason continued prattling on, reciting a story to Tim. The kid only seemed to half-listening, but the talking was helping to keep his breathing steady. When Jason stopped talking, Tim’s voice would audibly hitch, and he’d make this heart-breaking whine that just tore a hole in Jason.

So he kept talking.

He was about finished with this story when his phone began to ping. When Jason glanced at it, he saw Dick’s stupid face flashing at him indicating that their brother wanted to join the call.

“Hey, Timbers, big bird is calling and I’m going to patch him through okay?”

Tim sniffled and muttered an assent that sounded way too wrong and weak in Red Robin’s voice.

Jason’s eye slid guiltily to the ground, feeling entirely too helpless. He pressed the button to let Dick’s call through and let out a breath of relief when his big brother’s voice came in.

“Hey Tim, how you holding up?” Dick was keeping his tone purposefully calm but there was a clear layer of tension below it.

Tim laughed and the sound was tight and near breathless. It was so obvious that the kid was barely keeping it together, and Tim was at the end of his rope. Honestly, Jason was impressed that Tim had been handling it this well. Jason had outright panicked when he woke up in a coffin and if that happened a second time…

Jason didn’t even want to think about it. It was too close to reality and too close to feeling like Jason was locked in the coffin with Tim.

“I’m, you know, just laying around.”

“I get that,” Dick said with a small huff. “Look I have Babs here with me. She’s going to trace the call, alright? And then, Jay and I will come get you and we will all go out for ice cream. How does that sound?”

Tim sniffed an ugly, exhausted sound. “Yeah, that sounds great, Dick. Please just hurry up.”

“As fast as possible,” Jason said, “we’re getting you out as fast as we can.”

“I really want to believe you.”

“Babs, how’s that tracking coming?”

The woman was silent, which sent a terrible sinking feeling in Jason’s stomach. Babs was good. Babs was the _best_.

And if Babs was silent…

That wasn’t good.

“I’m not able to find the signal,” Babs’ voice was slow and the delivery that painfully damning. The sinking feeling in Jason’s stomach now felt like it was swallowing him whole. He could only imagine how Tim would feel, trapped six feet under the ground and hearing that his only lifeline was quickly unravelling.

“No,” Tim gasped, his breath rapidly rising and becoming more frantic. It was coming fast, but it didn’t sound like he was really breathing and more like he was about to diving straight into a panic attack. A panic attack that none of them could be there to dissuade and Tim would have to suffer through about.

“Tim, Timmy, Timbers, Baby Bird,” Jason chanted into the phone, trying to force Tim’s attention back on him. There was a scraping noise that Jason recognised, and he knew that Tim was clawing at the coffin around him.

“Tim!” he shouted, and Tim made a cry that made him sound like he was being gutted.

“Jason?”

“Focus on me, Timbit, I’m coming to get you.”

“How?” Tim whined, and it was pure desperation and terror that made Jason’s heart was shattering into a hundred pieces.

“Perhaps I can help with that?” A feminine voice purred over the line, making everyone else on the call fall silent.

Jason felt like ice had been injected into his veins, making him into a stone statue on the spot. He stayed like that for a tremulous moment, before the ice melted away to uninhibited and raging fury.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jason hissed, snarling into the phone, green rage flickering on the edges of his vision.

The woman on the line laughed, confident and deadly. “Oh, I’m just someone who makes cages for pretty birds. Are you enjoying my latest work?”

Jason wanted to shout every obscenity he knew at this woman but forced himself to swallow them down. He had to keep his focus on Tim and getting him out of the ground.

“What do you want?” Dick’s voice cut through. His brother’s usual warmth was gone, banished by the bone-chilling cold of his wrath. It was bitter enough to send a shiver up Jason’s own spine.

The woman chuckled as if she was talking to small children instead of some of the most dangerous vigilantes in the world. “Oh, little birds, little birds, it’s nice for you to offer, but what I want you can’t provide.”

Jason growled, fingers twisting into a fist, and he wanted to punch something. Preferably, the bitch that had buried Tim alive and was now taunting them for it.

“Where is he?” Jason hissed, but it was quickly becoming a yell, “Where the fuck is he?”

“Now that’s not nice,” the woman hummed, satisfaction rolling in the sound. “And I was just about to give you a clue to his location.”

He froze, hand clenched around the phone so tight that his knuckles were white. He refused to call the light feeling in his chest hope. He wasn’t giving this woman that.

“A clue?” he repeated, praying that for once the villain would just throw them a bone.

“Sure thing, dead bird,” the woman chirped, “Now listen closely because to find your little caged Robin you’ll need to retrace your steps. So think about everything that’s come before and hopefully, you’ll find a bird in a hole along the way.”

Retrace his steps? Like what he did when he lost his fucking keys?

Fury roared in the back of his head with no outlet to lash out on.

“Now, for as much as I love this reunion, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this short. Say your goodbyes, I’ll give you five minutes.”

Her line clicked off and Dick cursed. “Babs, could you track Tim’s or her signal?”

She sighed heavily, “No, she’s like a ghost.”

“Fuck,” Jason swore.

“Guys,” Tim’s voice trembled, alarm picking up in it. His breath was coming out frantic now like he was going into a panic attack all over again. “The battery is ticking down. She’s killing the phone.”

_No._

Jason felt his own panic rising. Why couldn’t he do anything? Why could he stop this? Why couldn’t he keep another Robin from struggling and crying in a grave?

Fury clawed at his mind. Tim’s distress screamed in his ear. And the greasy sense of helplessness coated him like oil. He moved before he could think, slamming his fist into a nearby gargoyle.

Pain flared up the limb, and the reinforced gloves were probably the only thing keeping him from breaking his own hand. But the pain was nothing like the dagger to the chest he felt every time Tim sobbed.

“Goddammit,” Dick cursed, and there was the sound of tires screeching coming across the line. “We will find you, baby bird, we will.”

“But how? How are you going to do that?” Tim yelled into the phone, his fear melting into pure and exhausted anger.

“We’re going to retrace our steps,” Dick assured, and Tim responded with a guttural sob. “Babs, can you send everyone Tim’s last known location and all the information you have on everyone’s whereabouts. We are going to have to pick everything apart. A clue is there. We just need to find it.

“You hear that, Tim? We’re going to find it.”

“Sounds like a job for the World’s Greatest Detective,” Tim joked, even though it was obviously forced. It held just the smallest and most delicate piece of hope in it.

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Dick and he sounded like he might start crying.

“I don’t have much time,” Tim said, dread filling him. “The battery is about to die. You are coming, right? You guys will come.”

“Yes, of course,” Jason whispered, “but Tim…”

He bit the inside of his cheek, hating what he was going to have to say next. “You need to start digging.”

“What?” Tim yelped, and there was the thump of him struggling in the coffin. “Jason, I can’t, I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. You’re strong, baby bird.”

“Jason,” Tim said his name through a sob that ripped Jason’s chest open. “I can’t.”

“I know you can. I did it and you can too. Robins survive.”

“Robins survive,” Tim repeated, “But please, please don’t leave m—”

And then, static as the line cut off.

The silence yawned and no one dared to speak. It was heavy and seemed to crawl down Jason’s throat, sitting in his stomach like a rock.

What was Tim feeling? Left alone in a coffin and waiting on a family that might never come.

Fuck, he didn’t have to ask that question. He knew _exactly_ what Tim was feeling.

Memories that Jason had desperately been trying to push back were stalking at the edges of his mind, ready to dig their claws into him. But he knew that if he thought about them, he would drown. He would sink into that sea of green and he didn’t know whether he’d be able to find his way out.

He couldn’t let that happen. Not with Tim running out of time.

They needed to find Tim, but how?

_Retrace your steps. Everything that’s come before._

Something about those words caught in Jason’s mind and he looked out at the skyline arching around him. He traced each of the familiar buildings, before stopping to look out to the north.

“I’m almost in Gotham,” Dick said, unintentionally grounding Jason back into reality. “Bruce and I are going to Tim’s last known location and we’re going to start going backtracking from there. Jason, meet us there too?”

Jason almost said ‘yes’ on instinct, but something held him back. He couldn’t force himself to tear his eyes away from the direction. Because beyond the immediate skyscrapers, was a patch of land full of graves.

And one of them, the one that bared his name, should be empty unless…

Unless it wasn’t.

_Retrace your steps. Everything that’s come before._

“I have a hunch,” Jason said, and his own voice sounded distant in his ears. “I’m going to investigate it. I’ll call back when I know more.”

Dick instantly started protesting, but Jason hung up the call before he could doubt himself.

Instead, he picked up his gear from his nearby apartment, got on the back of his bike, and began racing to the Gotham Cemetery.

And, for the first time in his life, he prayed that his grave wasn’t empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for giving this story such an enthusiastic response! I'm so glad people are invested in it! I'm having a lot of fun writing it :)
> 
> Right now, I'm estimating this fic is going to be 7 chapters... which probably means it's going to be like 12 given how well my outlines track, but that's my problem. So yeah, the plot! It's here!
> 
> You can visit my tumblr at [ SalParadiseLost ](https://salparadiselost.tumblr.com) where I post tumblr things and general writing musings.
> 
> Please leave a kudos and comment! Flattery gets you everywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

Jason urged the motorcycle forward and heard it scream through the neon laced streets of Gotham. Cars honked at him from all directions, but he ignored them in favour of pushing the cycle on. The smog of the city filled his lungs, and the slight drizzle of the coming rain stung his cheeks like dozens of needles.

The drizzle slid off his face, making the tears the cold brought on mix on his cheeks.

Faster. He revved the gas and the city streamed by in a colourful rush. _Faster._

He turned a corner, and the spires of a Gotham cathedral came into view. The spindles seemed to claw at the sky as if they could pull hard enough to bring the night toppling down on top of them.

Beside the cathedral, standing as a silent guard, were the gates of Gotham cemetery.

He screeched the motorcycle into a stop that nearly sent it tipping. He jumped off and raced through the twisting maze of the grey graves.

The humidity was catching in his lungs, and he was desperately trying to force air into his chest. The cold seemed to send spikes down his throat, but he pushed through it, in favour of running further into graveyard.

He hadn’t been back here since he crawled out of his own coffin, and when he did, he hadn’t exactly been lucid enough to note its location.

He looked out at the sea of grey tombs, rolling over the hills like waves on the ocean.

Fuck. He couldn’t check each one.

Tim didn’t have the time for him to check each one.

He could suffocate in a coffin while Jason was wasting time reading names.

_Fuck._

He scraped a hand through his hair and frantically tried to keep his own heartbeat even. It was hard to when it felt like the organ was doing its damndest to try to burst out of his chest.

Why didn’t he think about learning the location of his own grave?

Why had he been so stupid?

Why had he let this happen?

He ground his teeth, and desperately tried to search through the names of strangers that was keeping him from his little brother.

The drizzle was slowly turning into a rain, and it was soaking through his thin civvies. He had considered changing into his Red Hood get up, but he decided against it because he didn’t think Tim had enough time.

There was no way in hell he was going to let his baby brother suffocate because he needed to change a pair of fucking pants.

But now he was missing his access to the direct Bat comms.

He scrambled for the phone in his pocket, and slammed Dick’s number. The man was sure to be investigating with the Bat and furiously trying to find clues on Tim’s disappearance. They usually didn’t answer their phones in their suits, but hopefully, Babs would see it and immediately patch him through.

The phone rang and after three beats, Dick’s voice came through breathlessly. “What’s up, Hood?”

“Where’s my grave?”

Dick’s voice caught in his throat and he made a strangled sound. “What?”

“In Gotham Cemetery,” Jason reiterated, “where was I buried?”

Dick didn’t speak for a while, and then, when he did, his tone was hollow.

“You think he’s been buried in your grave,” Dick realised. His voice was barely audible over the rapidly increasing rain.

“I don’t know where in the cemetery it is. I wasn’t exactly… lucid when I broke out.”

There was a pause, then a long, hissed “fuck”.

Dick took a deep breath, forcing himself to steady. “Okay, tell me what you see immediately around you.”

Jason told him what he saw, a series bowed angels with rain dripping off them like heavy tears. Dick told him quick directions, leading him through the winding cemetery. As he went further, the graves changed, becoming heavier and bigger. Single stones transformed into Grecian mausoleums that lined the sidewalks creating a neighbourhood for the dead. 

The dead and the buried.

The dead that actually stayed dead.

“Now, you should see the Waynes. They are hard to miss,” Dick said, his voice cutting through Jason’s rapidly spiralling thoughts.

He looked up and sure enough there was an archway that announced “the Wayne Family” and marked the entry to a sectioned off portion of the graveyard.

For a second, Jason couldn’t walk. He could hardly breathe.

The only thing he could do was think about his own body being laid to rest. Did they cry when they brought him in? Did they hesitate to put him here? A street rat among the blue bloods and the pedigrees.

Had people whispered about his impropriety, his loud mouth and his traumatic past, just like they did when Bruce had dragged him through the gala circuit? Had they snickered at his broken body and said a crude, violent boy only deserved a cruel, violent end?

Or…

Or…

Had Bruce just cried for a son?

“Jay? Do you see it?”

Right, fuck, he had to focus on Tim now. His problems weren’t important.

Jason’s eyes searched over the headstones. Bruce’s parents were the first names he recognised, the two graves that started this all, and he gave them a silent nod of respect. He continued past, then, off to the side, he saw his own grave in the distance.

_Jason Todd-Wayne._

His heart caught in this throat and he choked on the tears he refused to shed.

God, this was such a fuck up of a day.

He squeezed his eyes tight and forced himself to take steps forward.

His desires were torn in half. Part of him was desperate to find it empty, peaceful and undisturbed by another Robin’s body. Part of him craved for it to be filled, because at least that would mean he was a step closer to ending this nightmare.

“I’m almost there, N,” he told his brother. His grave was rapidly approaching, the angel standing over him becoming more and more menacing.

Its wings were spread wide, and, instead of a comfort, it looked like a predatory bird in mid- strike. Its clasped hands in front of it gently held something to its chest.

Jason did a double take.

Because precariously balanced between the crook of its elbows was a crowbar. Shiny, perfectly silver, and clean. Like it had never been used before.

Laughter rang in his ear and he forced himself to stay in the moment.

His eyes travelled down, and now it was obvious.

The dirt was upturned, freshly dug out, then hastily shoved back over the hole.

And at the angel’s feet, a single shovel taunted him.

“Fuck, Nightwing, he’s here.”

“What? How do you know?” His brother’s voice was frantic and stressed in his ear.

“Because I’m staring at a freshly dug grave and a fucking crowbar.”

Dick didn’t speak for a while and then, his voice came in a rush. “We’re coming, Jay. Me and Bruce, we’re coming.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, and his voice sounded distant and watery in his own ears. “I’m going to start digging.”

Dick instantly began to protest, but Jason hung up, setting his phone to silent before Dick could call again.

He put it back in his pocket and grasped the handle of the shovel. It felt heavy in his hands and he nearly had to put it down. Every part of him screamed to drop it, to run, to flee from this place that stank of his own death.

But if he didn’t do this, Tim would die too.

He couldn’t change that he had been buried here, but he could make sure that he was the only Robin to lay dead on this ground.

He steeled himself, and struck the shovel into the ground, displacing a pound of earth.

Digging up the grave was a steady affair. He forced himself to think of the motion of it, the strain of his muscles and the rhythmic beating of his heart.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

The shovel dug into the dirt.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

A crowbar dug into his skin.

Mud squished under his boot like the slick of blood on a warehouse floor. His body stuttered and wouldn’t listen to him. Tight bands of stress constricted his chest and made him feel like his ribcage had been caved in again.

Fuck. No. He couldn’t think of this.

The rain blurred his vision, and he occasionally had to shake it out of his hair like a dog. The scent of mud caught in his nose, and he was deep enough that it was getting harder to see over the wall of dirt.

Six feet. He must be almost there.

He stared at the dirt and rose the shovel again. But before he could bring it down, the dirt under him moved.

He froze, heart stopping for a moment, and watched as the dirt pushed back, almost like the earth itself was breathing.

“Tim?” His voice was glass, beautiful and breakable in its delicate hope.

The motion in the ground became more frantic, pushing up further and further. There was a heavy thumping deep in the ground, probably from Tim kicking at his own coffin.

Then, Jason couldn’t help but become a flurry of motion. He tossed the shovel over his shoulder, he couldn’t use it anymore and risk slicing off one of Tim’s fingers. He began digging with his own hands, ignoring it way that the dirt caught under his fingernails and threatened to pull him into the grave again.

He scraped the dirt away, until finally, _finally,_ pale skin poked through the mud.

It was a single white hand, rising from the ground, like some kind of terrible, B-rated zombie film. Jason would have laughed, if the sight of it hadn’t made him want to break down and cry.

He caught Tim’s hand, squeezing it tight and relishing in the way that it squeezed back, vibrant and full of life.

“I’m almost there, Tim,” he said like a prayer, “Just hang on, baby bird, just hang on.”

He pushed the dirt away, it was slower now that he didn’t have a shovel, but every single palmful of dirt revealed another inch of Tim. A single hand became two, which became a wrist and an elbow, until finally, it became a hole in a coffin with an ashen face peering out from the dark.

“Jason,” Tim was crying, dirt-soaked tears trailed down his face, “Jason, you came.”

“Of course, I did, Timmy.” Jason was also crying, and he didn’t even bother trying to hold a sob back. “I’m right here, now let’s get you out.”

Together they worked to widen the hole in the coffin Tim had already made. Wood shattered in his hands and made his palms bleed, but the pain was nothing on the pure joy he felt at knowing that Tim would be okay.

He had failed so many times before. He had failed Tim especially.

But just this once, he hadn’t.

Slowly but surely, the hole widened enough, and Jason could tug Tim’s slim body out of the coffin and into his arms.

Tim curled into him like he was the safest place in the world, and just _cried._

His sobs caught in the Gotham rain, ugly but wonderfully free from walls of a coffin. The boy’s small body wracked against him, shuttering in its fight for breath. Jason could feel his brother’s ribcage, rising and falling, and the frantic beat of his heart against his own chest.

Tim hiccupped against him, and tried to press even closer, almost as if he could bury himself in Jason’s grasp. Gently, Jason guided Tim’s head under his chin, leaning a cheek against the kid’s silky hair.

“It’s okay, baby bird” he whispered to Tim, rubbing a hand up and down the boy’s trembling back. The kid’s breaths were beginning to even out as the adrenaline of being trapped left his system. “You’re free. You’re okay.”

“You came,” Tim gasped, one of his hands grasping on Jason’s leather jacket like it was a lifeline. “You saved me.”

Jason hummed, his hand coming up to pet Tim’s hair, smoothing out some of the tangled strands. “Of course, I did. I promised you I would.”

“You came,” Tim repeated, and the kid rubbed his face in the crook of Jason’s neck. His breath was hot, but, thankfully, much more even and controlled. “You dug me out.”

Jason tightened his grip, a sob bobbing in his own throat. “Yeah, I did.”

Suddenly, Tim was pushing against him, leaning away so he could look at Jason’s face. “Jason,” There were tears in Tim’s eyes again, and Jason didn’t know why.

“Hey, hey, hey, baby bird,” Jason desperately tried to calm his brother and wipe the tears away. “Why are you crying?”

“Because,” Tim’s voice hiccuped on the word, “I made you dig me up. You already had to dig up a grave and I made you do it again to save me. I _made_ you do it again because I couldn’t, I couldn’t… I’m sorry” Tim’s words were coming fast, and Jason didn’t know how to stop them.

“I made you relive it and you’re going to hate me now. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Jason couldn’t believe what he was hearing and didn’t know how the hell came to that line of reasoning. He couldn’t take the time to think about it either, not with the kid rapidly unravelling on his lap.

“Tim”

His brother barely moved at his name. He kept muttering ‘I’m sorry’ refusing to look at Jason’s eyes.

Jason sighed and pushed the kid’s chin up with one of his hands, so Tim was forced to meet his eyes. His brother’s eyes were watery blue and rimmed red from all his crying. There was still dirt marring his cheeks and Jason shifted his hand so he could push some of it away with his thumb.

“Tim, I want you to listen to me closely. Saving you is not an inconvenience. I don’t hate you. You don’t need to say you’re sorry.”

“But, Jason, I made you—” Tim tried to argue, and Jason cut him off.

“No, baby bird. You didn’t make me do anything.” Jason forced a chuckle and rubbed his brother’s back again. “Did you really think that a little bit of dirt was going to keep me from you?”

Tim kept Jason’s gaze for a couple of moment, his giant eyes becoming impossibly bigger. Then, all the tension left his body and he just collapsed on top of Jason.

“Thank you,” he whispered, nestling closer to Jason. Gingerly, he brought his hands up, clasping his arms around Jason’s waist and tucking himself back under his chin. The exhaustion had seemed to overtake him, and the kid was a boneless, warm heap on top of him.

Jason smiled over his head. He tipped his head up, closed his eyes and let the rain wash over his face. It cleared away some of the mud out of the corners of his eyes, and the smell of the earth from his nose.

“No problem, Timbit,” he said, his voice gruff and soft at the same time. Things weren’t perfect, they weren’t even finished. They still didn’t know who put Tim in the ground and the silver crowbar glimmered in the angel’s arms above him. But, for right now, Jason didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Tomorrow, Jason would find vengeance. Tomorrow, he would lay his wrath on the city and make sure that no one, even _thought_ about laying a hand on a Robin.

But those were tomorrow problems.

Tonight, he just held his brother closer and waited for the rest of their family to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter made me cry while writing it. I hope it also made you cry.
> 
> Thanks for the enthusiastic response everyone! I'm glad you are enjoying my story!
> 
> Please leave a kudos and comment! Flattery gets you everywhere.


	4. Chapter 4

“Answer, Hood. Answer goddammit,” Dick hissed into the communicator, but the device remained stubbornly silent. The static behind the comm seemed to taunt him, reminding him exactly how useless he felt.

Jason hadn’t said a word since he dropped the bomb that there was a crowbar on his grave and hung up on him.

Dick sighed, crouched on the ledge of an apartment building as he watched Bruce frantically comb through the area below him.

Nothing. They were turning up nothing.

They were retracing Tim’s footsteps, but if there were clues to be found, they weren’t finding them. Which was saying a lot considering the World’s Greatest Detective was scouring the area with a righteous fury that only came when the case involved one of his children.

He didn’t know what to do.

He felt like he could either stay here, trying desperately to trace over Tim’s final movements before he got kidnapped or he could rush to Jason and his hunch on Tim’s location.

The decision was painful. It felt too much like he was gambling on Tim’s life. Spending chips that were his little brother’s final breaths.

But if he left Jason and forced him to dig up his own grave on his own…

The thought of Jason reliving his trauma on his own made Dick physically ill.

Nightwing watched as Bruce stood, gave something that looked like a heavy sigh, and grappled up beside him.

The man landed silently and shook his head when he saw Dick’s questioning glance.

“No,” Bruce said, and his shoulders remained a tense coil. The flow of the cape made the effect seem even more exhausted and restless. “Did Hood say anything?”

“He thinks Red Robin’s buried in the Gotham Cemetery. He needed directions to his gravesite. When he got there…” Dick hesitated, knowing the weight of the next words.

“He said there was a crowbar on his grave,” Dick admitted, watching as Bruce’s shoulders became even tighter. Dick didn’t need to see his eyes to know they were widening in horror. 

Batman growled, putting a hand to his face in frustration.

It was so clear that someone was playing them. Someone knew their secrets and was turning them against their family in the worst way possible.

He didn’t know why, but he knew that Bruce wasn’t going to stop until whoever it was found out and brought to justice.

Bruce met his eyes through the masks, and Dick could see him silently fighting over the same decision that Dick was trying to make.

The mountain of a man turned towards the direction of the graveyard, an anxious, hard set in his jaw. His face wavered for a second, before becoming firm.

Nightwing knew that Batman had made his decision.

“We will continue here for another hour and then we go to Hood. Keep trying him on the comms, though. I want to know the moment he picks up.”

Dick scrunched his nose but didn’t fight it.

Together, He and Bruce grappled towards their next potential lead. The drizzle of the coming rain landed lightly against the exposed parts of his skin and he looked up into the Gotham sky.

When he landed on the skyscraper, he couldn’t help but feel like he has playing someone else’s game without any idea what the rules were.

* * *

An hour later and they weren’t any further into finding clues about who had taken Tim. Bruce was getting steadily broodier, the implications of what this meant weighing heavier and heavier on his shoulders. Dick didn’t dare say anything to him, not when Bruce seemed so close to snapping.

And the last thing Tim needed was for two of his family members to get in a fight.

Sure enough, though. When an hour was up, Batman turned towards the Gotham cathedral, its monstrous gothic spire like a scar against the night, and began to lead Dick there.

Neither of them said anything, even when they closed in on the church. They had gotten there in record time, but it still felt like impossibly too long in Dick’s opinion.

The rain was heavy now, slicing across his face when he landed in front of the cemetery. Bruce landed behind him almost silent despite his bulk.

He looked back and saw his father stared up at the sign with raindrops rolling down his face like tears.

“Have you been back here since…” Dick asked but didn’t dare to actually say the words.

Bruce shook his head, and Dick looked forward again, reading the words one more time.

“I used to visit, but then… eventually it became too hard.” Dick’s voice cracked and he gave a bodily shake to dislodge some of the water sticking to his suit.

Bruce grunted and moved past Dick. As he did, he gave the brief pause and put a hand on his shoulder. It was a tiny movement, but Bruce didn’t really do grand gestures. Or even slightly moderately sized gestures. Especially not when he was this stressed.

Tiny movements were all he could hope for and having a hand on the shoulder grounded Dick more than he would like to admit.

Dick followed Bruce into the graveyard, hating the way that the scene grew eerier and eerier around him.

He could hardly see through the heavy rain, which tinted everything grey and hazy. The rows of graves with their stone angels standing guard looked like strangers in the distance. Solitary, solemn figures that stared back at him as he passed.

A shiver traveled up his spine as he looked out into the graveyard and saw all the dark figures. Through the night and the rain, he couldn’t know for sure whether the things that looked back were actually stone.

He quickened his pace, coming closer to Bruce. It helped ease a tiny bit of the anxiety that was quickly rising in his chest.

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all.

Coming back here felt too much like a funeral. A funeral that Dick hadn’t even known about until it was finished and Jason was firmly in the ground. A funeral he had never attended, but one that still haunted his nightmares.

Dick twitched, itchy in his own skin. His suit had never felt so useless on his body.

Why did death seem to trail after his family like a shadow?

Jason dead and then suddenly not. Somehow his brother had been given back to him, and yet, Dick couldn’t shake the feeling that he was only here on loan. Like there was something just out of sight, almost ready to snatch him back.

Tim who always pushed his body to the very limits was somewhere in a grave, a pine box for a boy who might or might not be dead. Like some kind of Schrodinger’s cat experiment with his brother’s life.

He hated not knowing whether his brothers were dead or alive.

And yet, it was a horrible feeling he was all too familiar with.

At least Damian was safe, sequestered away in the Manor and grumbling about being left behind. 

Bruce stopped and Dick almost crashed into his back. When he looked up, he saw a sign announcing, “the Wayne Family” as his stomach flipped over on itself.

What was this? An omen or a death knell or something else entirely?

He shivered and it wasn’t because of the cold. He whipped around the feeling of eyes on his back too much to bear. He desperately scanned over the graves, trying to pick out something organic in the sea of stone.

Beside him, Bruce tensed, his Batman instincts instantly picking up on his son’s anxiety.

“What is it?” He asked, leaning down, so close that his voice was practically in Dick’s ear.

“I don’t know… Maybe it’s my own anxiety, but I keep feeling like something is watching me.”

Bruce grunted, peering out into the darkness with him.

Dick doubted himself, but he also knew that a Robin’s instincts weren’t anything to ignore. They had saved his life more than once and he just couldn’t shake the feeling.

After a couple more seconds of looking, he shook himself and turned back towards the direction of the Wayne gravesite.

Maybe it was nothing. This place was putting him on edge more than he would like, and it could be his own mind playing tricks on itself.

Or maybe it was his own mind stalling for time as Jason’s grave got rapidly closer.

“Come on,” Dick grunted as he jerked back to the cemetery. Bruce startled a little bit, backing away from Dick as he practically stomped his way towards Jason’s grave.

Bruce didn’t follow him, and he paused, looking back.

“Batman?”

“Go. Make sure Hood is okay. I don’t like the feeling of this place either.”

Dick shivered, staring out at the darkness surrounding him, trying not to imagine what could be lurking right at the edges of his vision. He almost wanted to call Bruce back as he watched his father get swallowed by the dark to do a perimeter check.

Not for the first time, he prayed that he was just being paranoid.

Dick swiveled back towards Jason's grave, yet again feeling that eerie creep along his skin. This place stank of death, Jason's death, and he didn't want to be here any longer than he had to be. 

Jason's grave stood like a lonely sentinel in the distance, grey and guarded in the rain. The angel that stood above his brother's name became more menacing by the moment, almost like it was biding her time to strike him down.

He froze when he saw the crowbar glinting at him from the statue. The weapon that had shattered his life, nestled in the crook of an angel’s bent prayer. It made him want to scream and cry at the same time and he had to hold himself back from going to the grave and flinging it away.

If it wasn’t the only piece of evidence they had to Tim’s disappearance, then he would have.

Seeing it there. Having it mock him right over his little brother’s grave.

It made him want to turn away and hunt down whoever had dared to set this all up.

But instead, he forced himself to take a breath, and go towards the hole that Jason had dug into the Earth.

Jason must have hated it. He had been forced to dig himself out the first time and now he had been forced to dig in again. Why hadn’t Dick been here? Why had he been so useless?

Why was he never there when his brothers needed him most?

Dick breathed in heavily and forced himself to look inside.

It was dark, a ragged hole in the ground, but amid the murk, two pale and mud-slicked faces looked back. His brothers were huddled at the bottom of the grave, Tim collapsed in Jason’s arms, and Jason leaning back against a loamy wall. Mud surrounding them, the black of the dirt staining their clothes and skin

Dick didn’t want to think about the way they looking like fresh corpses like they were things to be buried instead of brought up.

No, Dick wouldn’t allow himself to think like that. Instead, he let his body sag in relief as the tight knot of anxiety within him began to ease away.

Tim was here. Tim was alive. Tim was okay.

Jason was here. Jason was alive. Jason was okay.

He didn’t have to lose another brother.

He didn’t have to lose another piece of his heart to be buried in the ground.

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice suddenly weak. He wanted to say more, but everything else was crushed under the waves of relief and exhaustion. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted to get his brothers home and feel safe again.

A treacherous voice inside him whispered in his ear.

_You had thought you were safe. You thought Tim was safe and yet, he would have suffocated beneath your feet. You thought Jason was safe and yet, he had to relive his worst memory alone._

_And what did you do?_

“A little late to the party, Big Bird?” Jason said, his tone light and full of a similar relief. He hadn’t intended for the words to hurt, but Dick could barely hold back his flinch.

If Jason hadn’t been here, Tim would have died and he would have wasted all his time on clues to nowhere.

He would have been scarred by being too little, too late yet again.

God, he needed to snap out of this. His brothers didn’t need him to be weak right now. They needed their shining, golden brother who didn’t fail them at every turn.

“You know I’m not one to miss a party,” he said lightly, his voice belying the swirl of emotions inside him.

Jason gave him a crooked smile, his teeth shining like bits of bone. “Help us outta here. I’m about done with dirt under my fingernails.”

Jason stood, nudging Tim up on his shaky legs. The kid didn’t seem like he had the strength and still used Jason like a crutch. Tim was trembling ever so slightly, and it sent a dagger into Dick’s heart. He didn’t know whether it was from the cold and the wet, or whether it was a leftover from the terror of being buried alive.

When Jason stood, half of his head could peek over the hole. Dick brushed some of the dirt out of Jason’s hair and ignored the way his brother scowled at being pet.

“Here. Baby bird delivery.” Jason grunted, lifting his little brother up out of the hole by his armpits.

Dick gratefully took the boy in his own arms, another piece of him settling into place as he felt Tim curl up against him. He nearly collapsed by the sudden burst of relief that washed over him anew.

He suddenly couldn’t stand, knees shaking too much, and he knelt on the ground with Tim tucked into his chest. He felt his heartbeat, firm and fast against Dick. He felt his breath and the warmth of his body.

He was okay.

He was really okay.

“Watch his hands,” Jason’s warning cut into Dick’s thoughts and he snapped his head up. “His fingernails are going to be ripped up from breaking out of the coffin. Just be careful with them.”

Dick gently shifted, drawing one of Tim’s arms out and looking at the delicate fingers. Tim’s hand was a bloody mess. The normally pale skin was black, blue, and red, one huge injury from when Tim had to break out of a wooden cage. He still had splinters in his skin, knuckles swollen and red, and some of the digits were obviously broken.

The worst, though, were his nails.

He had nearly lost all of them and the end of his fingers were just red open wounds. Blood trailed down his skin, mixing with the black dirt and the grime. The nails that were left, were ragged and barely hanging on.

The sight of them brought tears to Dick’s eyes, and he carefully began to clean the filth away from his little brother’s broken hand.

“Oh Tim,” Dick said, in horror, wishing so much that he could take Tim’s pain away. He turned the hand over, and brought up Tim’s other arm.

It was like a knife to the heart to see that it was just as bad.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt too much,” Tim said, trying to assuage some of Dick’s worry. He tried to pull his hands away to hide them, but Dick kept a firm grasp on his wrists.

“No, Tim, let me see.”

_Let me see what my failure cost you._

He kept his touch light as he prodded at bones and muscle, trying to catalogue as painlessly as possible how bad Tim’s injuries were. He hated how Tim whimpered as he began to pull out some of the largest splinters. Each of the little sounds was a stab to his heart and Dick gently hushed him.

“You’ll be okay, Tim. We’re gonna fix you up.” He promised, knowing it was one small promise he could keep.

Beside him, he heard Jason rise from the grave, landing heavily next to Dick. He smiled as his younger brother began to worry over Tim’s hands just as much as Dick was.

“Damn kid, you really ripped these up,” Jason whistled under his breath and Dick felt Tim’s spine straightened against him.

“Will they heal?” he asked, a frantic edge of worry in his voice.

Jason met his eyes, a pang of sadness in them. “The nails will grow back, but you might have scars. I did before the Lazarus Pit took them away.”

Tim nodded miserably. “That’s okay. I can deal with another set of scars.”

Dick hated how much truth rang in that statement. They were the children of Bruce Wayne. They all had scars because of it.

“We need to call Agent A and let him know what he needs to prep,” Jason said, reviewing Tim’s left hand again. “Quick treatment will be the best for the worst of the damage.”

Dick nodded, gingerly standing and bringing Tim to his feet. His brother stayed close to his side and put an arm around his shoulders. Tim never asked for comfort, but Dick was able to pick up when he silently needed it.

“Where’s B?” Jason asked. Dick open his mouth to answer but was cut off by Bruce himself.

“Here," he grunted out, his voice rough with worry.

Batman stalked closer to them, cape flowing out behind him. His eyes were hidden by the cowl, but Dick knew that the man was rapidly scouring over Jason and Tim for injuries. Bruce's body language was subtle, but Dick saw some of the fearful anxiety beginning to be shed off of him.

When he got close enough, he laid a hand on Tim’s head and let out a deep and long-exhausted breath.

“It’s good to have you back, Red Robin,” he whispered and the voice was Bruce, not Batman.

Bruce turned towards Jason, nodding at him. “You did well. You trusted your hunch and you were right.”

Jason scoffed, looking back towards his own grave, and the crowbar balanced on it. “Of course I’m right. Though, I’m not too happy with what that means.”

“Me neither,” Bruce said, shifting his stance and eyes casting between his boys again. “I’ve called the Batmobile. It should be at the front of the cemetery. Take Tim there. I will join you shortly once I finish with this.”

Bruce motioned to the gravestone with the crowbar and Dick didn’t need to be told twice. With one shared glance to Jason, they began to lead Tim away from the grave that almost became his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't meant to be completely made up of Dick's angst, but that's what it turned into. *shrugs* I hope you all enjoy it anyways!
> 
> I've also added another chapter into this story because... yeah my initial outline is definitely going to need more chapters. I guess you will all be happy because that means more content for you!
> 
> \-----
> 
> You can visit my tumblr at [ SalParadiseLost ](https://salparadiselost.tumblr.com) where I post tumblr things and general writing musings.
> 
> Please leave a kudos and comment! Flattery gets you everywhere.


	5. Chapter 5

The Batmobile roared towards the Manor and something tight in Jason released. For as much as he had fought it, the Manor still covered him in _safe_ and _home._ And given the nightmare that Gotham had become, he was practically clinging on to all the safety he could get.

In his lap, Tim shifted, nestling into him more with a sigh. His feet were flung over Dick, who was tapping an uneven rhythm into the limb. Dick had been uncharacteristically silent through the entire car ride, and something about that rang an alarm bell in Jason.

But maybe that wasn’t so unexplainable.

They had just pulled one of their little brothers from a grave after all.

Jason put a hand on the kid’s head and resisted the urge to tug him up and pull him bodily against his chest. He would leave all that snuggly shit to Dick. Dick was the comforting one.

Jason was the one who could dig a grave from both ends.

The Batmobile pulled to a stop in the Cave and Bruce opened the car door. The rush of the familiar damp smell on the Cave filled Jason’s lungs, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.

Bruce tugged off the cowl and opened the passenger door. Slowly, he picked up the crowbar from the otherwise empty car seat.

Just the sight of it sent a shiver down Jason’s spine, and Bruce flashed him a look of sympathy. He knew they had to bring it as their only piece of evidence, but still…

He wanted it as far away from him as possible.

Jason forced himself not to look at his father holding a crowbar.

He had more important things to deal with, one of them was currently curled up in his lap.

“Come on, Baby Bird,” he whispered, gently nudging the kid. Tim grumbled and tried to press his face into Jason’s stomach. “We need to let Alfred take a look at our hands.”

He lifted his head, caught Dick’s eyes, and together they began to pull Tim from the car and towards the Medical Wing.

Alfred was waiting, his hands already in gloves and looking over Tim with calculating eyes.

He spared a moment to give Jason and Dick a thankful smile. “Thank you for bringing him home.”

Jason shrugged as Dick helped Tim onto the medical table. Dick murmured comforting quiet words to his younger brother.

“You don’t need to thank me for that.”

Alfred gave him a small smile that made Jason’s heart go warm and delicate. “Perhaps, I do not need to, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”

Jason could almost hear something inside of him break, and all of a sudden, he was rushing towards Alfred and hugging the man. Alfred was so slight against him, but Jason felt like a small child again, half-terrified and hiding behind the butler’s legs.

“Are you alright, my boy?” Alfred’s warm accent calmed the anxiety that still dwelled in Jason.

“I will be.” Jason broke the hug and backed away, so Alfred could continue on to Tim. The butler hesitated and looked like he wanted to say more, but he just narrowed his eyes. Jason watched from a distance as the butler began to treat Tim’s injuries.

The scene played out around him, and he gulped, suddenly uncomfortable in the place he was. He felt distinctly out of place, too big and too broken to be in the picture.

So instead of standing there, wondering over whether he was allowed to go over a mother over Tim like Dick was doing, he turned around and headed to Bruce and the Batcomputer.

The only greeting he got was a grunt in acknowledgment as Bruce continued to look over files he had spread out between screens.

“Any idea who did this?” Jason asked the question that weighed on all of their minds. He flicked his eyes between the files and saw most of them were centered around Gotham’s clown.

“The Joker?” Jason had to fight to not let his voice wobble on the word.

Bruce nodded, glaring at a tiny image of the Joker. “He is the obvious choice.”

Jason knew Bruce well enough to hear his doubt in the theory. “But you’re not sold on that?”

“The voice was obviously a woman’s, which he could have used a voice modulator for, but…”

Jason knew what he meant.

The Joker was flashy. He wanted to cause chaos as loudly and as messily as possible. He wanted the city to burn and for everyone to see it.

Having Tim die lonely and quietly in a grave…

That didn’t match the Joker’s sadistic flare.

“Moreover, he’s currently in Arkham.” Bruce pointed to a still of Joker sitting on a prison bed. He almost looked like a normal person, if he wasn’t reading a book upsidedown and smiling into apparent nothing. “That was taken an hour ago.”

Jason sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Some part of him was glad that it wasn’t the Joker. Thinking about him too much still sent laughter ringing through the back of his head.

But that almost meant they were nearly at square one.

His eyes flickered to the crowbar. The piece of metal seemed to wink at him from the table Bruce had put it on.

“I’m guessing we’re not going to get anything off of that. If whoever did this was smart enough to figure out how to kidnap and bury a Robin, I doubt they are going to make a rookie mistake and leave fingerprints behind.”

“I agree,” Bruce breathed, and the sound was heavy. Exhaustion weighed between the man’s shoulders and tugged at the thin lines on his face. He seemed older and more painfully human than Jason had seen him in a long time.

“We will figure it out. I know we will.”

Bruce looked up towards the files on the screen and the harsh blue light reflected on his face.

Jason turned his head towards the screens too and his eyes settled on the small newsreel that they always kept in the corner of the Batcomputer.

They didn’t pay attention to it much.

Why listen to a news station when you have the world’s best information system at your fingertips?

But Bruce still kept it there, playing in the background on mute.

Jason stared at the small video, something nagging at him in the back of his head.

Apparently, a bomb threat had been called on one of the empty warehouses near the Bowery and Jason watched as the police closed in on the area. They looked like tiny toy soldiers as they grouped around a single warehouse. The men and women in blue were strapped into protective gear and were closing the abandoned building off with yellow tape. They weren’t entering the warehouse, only clearing the area in case of its potential blow.

They weren’t even trying to stop the bomb because bomb threats weren’t exactly new.

This was Gotham after all and nine times outta ten, the threats were either a low-level gang spat or just some dumb kids goofing off.

Even the body language of the police told him that and Jason watched as two policewomen leaned against a car and shared a laugh.

Bomb threats were normal for Gotham. Bomb threats weren’t something that the Bats usually got involved in.

Jason saw Bruce’s eyes flicker to the small news alert that came onto a screen. He read the words, but then just as quickly, turned back to the open file he had on the Joker’s prison term.

Normally, Jason would have done the same.

Normally…

But this wasn’t a normal night.

He shivered and tried not to look at the gleaming crowbar that glinted at him from a nearby table.

The bitch had told him to retrace his steps and if they went backwards from his burial that meant…

Jason stared at the warehouse and as he did, his stomach flipped in cruel trepidation. The thoughts were forming in his head, the pieces were beginning to slot in place, and all of it painted a picture he desperately didn’t want to see.

Metal and…

“Where’s Damian?” he asked, frantically looking out into the Batcave around him. He prayed for the little demon to emerge from the shadows.

Please let Damian be here. Let him burst in swinging that stupid sword of him. Let him say something snarky or taunt him for being too paranoid.

But the Cave was quiet, except for the murmurings of Alfred and Dick in the medical wing.

The lack of Damian’s voice among them roared in Jason’s ears.

“He’s upstairs. I told him to stay in tonight,” Bruce said, but Jason could hear the doubt beginning to creep into his voice.

Because everything about this picture was wrong.

Damian would never stay upstairs when one of them was hurt in the medical wing. He should be down here, grumbling about being held back and complaining to Tim about not “his inability to prevent his own capture”.

He should be with them, pretending not to care, but still caring deeply about his family members.

The horror in Jason’s stomach deepened and spreading out through his veins.

Damian would have never stayed back, and one of the first things a Robin learned was how to sneak out when Bruce grounded them.

Jason tried desperately to keep his panic in check as he sprinted to the changing room. Lines of uniforms were hung neatly from racks, waiting to be pulled off for the next mission.

His eyes travelled to the Robin uniforms, the familiar traffic light colours dancing in his vision.

Please let them all be there. Please let him be—

All his thoughts crashed to a stop as he saw one empty hangar.

One missing uniform.

One Robin flying on his own.

The costume might be a little different, but the story was the same.

“Fuck,” he growled, racing back to the Batcomputer. His heart hammered in his chest and the panic that lurked at the edges of his mind roared to the forefront.

Metal and…

“He’s gone,” he panted to Bruce and skidding to a halt in front of him. He grabbed the controls from Bruce and brought the news of the bomb up onto the main screen. The sirens of the police cars blared and a newswoman's even voice told them to clear the area. “His uniform is gone. He must have snuck out.”

Jason saw realisation hit Bruce, dread crashing into him like a semi-truck.

The man spun around, desperately pressing buttons and trying to get Damian on the comms.

Only the damning hum of static came through.

“Oracle,” Bruce barked, his hands flying as he still frantically trying to connect to his son.

It took a moment, but then Babs’ voice came through.

“Batman, what’s wrong?”

“Robin, can you track him?”

The woman didn’t ask any other questions, and only the clacking of her typing came through.

“I don’t see him… I thought he was grounded tonight?” Her clicking didn’t stop. The sound of it echoed through the Cave.

“He snuck out,” Bruce said gruffly. The shortness of the sound betrayed exactly how afraid he was. “I don’t know how long he’s been gone.”

Barbara hummed, and she made a sound of realisation. “There’s some kind of interference around his comm, but I can get through it. Just give me a moment…”

There was a snap, and the static from the comms disappeared. It was replaced by Damian’s panting, quick and short and full of fear.

“—ther. Anyone? Please? Help me,” Damian’s voice was panicked and jumping. It was still painfully young, cracking at the edges of the words. He was must have been trying to hold back tears, but the hitches in his breath and the choked whines gave him away.

The sounds, so soft and strangled, sent a knife through Jason’s heart every time.

Damian should never sound like that. He should never sound that broken.

A Robin should never sound that broken.

The glare and colours of the Batcomputer swam before his eyes. He looked at the warehouse, the one that was about to blow, and saw another.

 _Tick. Tick. Tick._ A countdown on Jason’s life replaying all over again. He had crawled. He had begged, even as his body _screamed_ because of every word. His world had become terror as he watched his own time come to an end.

“Please, Father,” he said, pleading into empty air. “ _Please help me._ ”

Damian’s voice and his own memory mixed together in his ear. Everything was slamming together. The warehouse on the screen. The warehouse in his mind.

Metal raining down on him. Again and again and again.

The metallic click of a countdown. Again and again and again.

The metallic taste of blood as it filling his mouth and coated his throat. He tried to spit it out but it came back. Again and again and again.

The world was metal until _everything_ was fire.

His heart was thumping hard against his ribs, blood pounding in his head. He was trying to breathe, but the motion only sent something close to a sob rattling through his chest.

Metal and clock ticks and fire and…

Why couldn’t he—

“Father”

“ _Dad_ ”

“I can’t move.”

“ _Everything hurts so much._ ”

“Father, come find me.”

“ _Dad, where are you?_ ”

“Please.”

“ _Please.”_

“Robin!” Bruce shouted, and Jason scrambled back, the hard edge of the computer scraping against his spine. His chest heaved. He clutched at his own heart. The only sound was the heavy pant of his own breath.

Bruce looked at him with haunted eyes.

“Jason, what—”

“We need to go get him,” he cut Bruce off before he could hear the pity. He didn’t need it. It was too late for that.

His heartbeat was still racing, the smoke of the burning warehouse still filled his head, but he forced himself to focus on right now.

The right now of another Robin about to be burned.

“I’m going to get him,” Bruce grunted, flipped the cowl back up over his head. “You stay here.”

“Like shit I am,” Jason snarled, rounding on Bruce as the man tried to shove his way past him. “I’m coming.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Stay here, Jason.”

“No, old man.”

There was a long bout of silence, where they stood there glaring at each other. Bruce’s face was pinched, his shoulders were tense, the cape seemed to consume him more than it usually did. Jason could see him fighting with himself, his thoughts physically warring against each other. 

Jason’s body matched. Fury and dread and stubbornness all swirling together in his head. It was confusing, but at least the emotions were blocking out the memories.

He had to go.

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let another Robin die like he had.

~~He was hardly living with himself now.~~

Bruce opened his mouth, presumably to argue back, but the words were eaten by the large explosion that boomed from the computer screen.

Jason’s heart stuttered in his chest. Horror filled every inch of his body. His mind chanted “no” over and over again, but the scene played out.

And Damian’s world became metal and fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think some people were under the impression we were going to get comfort in this chapter. 
> 
> That's not what happens.
> 
> I was really excited to release this chapter, which is why I'm releasing two chapters back to back. 
> 
> \-----
> 
> You can visit my tumblr at [ SalParadiseLost ](https://salparadiselost.tumblr.com) where I post tumblr things and general writing musings.
> 
> Please leave a kudos and comment! Flattery gets you everywhere.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Burrowing Robins](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29453274) by [Calamityjim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calamityjim/pseuds/Calamityjim)




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